


Come On Mess Me Up

by williehughes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Artist Harry, Drama, M/M, Paris - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Philosophy, Recreational Drug Use, Rich Harry, Rich Louis, glasses harry, harry sees right through him, lotsa moping and sad drinking, louis is a master manipulator, oh and set in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 16:17:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13593795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williehughes/pseuds/williehughes
Summary: They kissed him gently because he was special, wasn't he. Him with his soft words, and thoughtful glances, and intelligent doe-like eyes. He seemed to them the beacon of their lifetime, the most precious fleeting treasure they ever got to handle because they’ve never quite met a boy like Harry before, have they.He'd play along with their lovely, crazy fantasies, let them hold him as they pleased and helped them ease him into a new welcomed oblivion in which he never needed anyone at all.Louis doesn’t leave people unimpressed by nature.or an AU where Harry mopes purposelessly on purpose and Louis has a lot to say.





	Come On Mess Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> helo
> 
> as of right now i have about six chapters done, so no pressure. i’ll be updating around weekly. 
> 
> a tw would be vague descriptions of depression, irresponsible drinking, drug/substance abuse, the like. 
> 
> a big thanks to me cuz lisen, writing is hard
> 
> have fun

Harry's heart feels like it's died today. Or yesterday. It doesn't matter.

-

 

Harry sits on the grainy railing of Pont Royal across the river from his school. Few distant stars gleam dimly in the black night sky as the autumn air bites at Harry’s freezing cheeks. His tea has gone cold where he set it in front of himself on the concrete, Harry hopes Zayn arrives soon. 

He flips pages of an old book with his numb fingers. It’s Keats, it's no good, he decides quickly. Harry’s cigarette burns out slowly, the river still and glistening in the orange street lights. He tucks his hair behind his ear, it's grown long, down to just below his jaw now. Irritatingly, it has become too big of a bother for Harry to care anymore; it makes his skin crawl from time to time. 

Harry tries to bury himself deeper into his black blazer coat. Stained pages of the library book remind Harry of home and he wonders if Gemma will phone for his birthday. Harry decides to call her, when she doesn't pick up he wonders whether it's because she's busy or because she's angry. It's fine, his birthday isn't for a few months, anyway. Zayn's here. 

The boy hides his face in a dark scarf, hands bunched up in the pockets of his overcoat, Harry missed him. 

Harry turns towards Zayn, hanging his legs off the railing, he takes a final drag from the cig and puts it out on the grey stone beside him. Harry spreads his arms wide and gives his best smile, Zayn comes running (speed walking at best). 

The boy's arms wrap around Harry's shoulders and he burrows his cold nose into the crook of his neck. 

"Hey," Zayn's voice sounds better in real life than it does over the phone, and yeah, Harry's missed him. He smells of sunshine and oil paint and wind, and Harry wonders how he's managed to bottle that up. 

"Missed you," Harry says as Zayn releases his grip on his shoulders. 

"We talked last night."

"Missed you still," and Zayn likes to feel loved just as much as any other human being,just lacks the ability to show it so he just scoffs, rolls his eyes, and pulls Harry down to the floor.

"Come on," he says, tugging Harry towards the metro station. He came to pick Harry up from his evening classes before they could make their way to his and Liam's. 

When they arrive, Zayn suggests movies and Liam looks for some DVDs under the tv stand. Harry curls up in the soft armchair watching them bicker softly. It had started to rain again, cold seeping through the thin cracks of the windows, Harry wonders if they'd cancel school if the river overflowed, it's be hard to get to from his building.

Harry's apartment is in one of the ancient shaky blocks in Montparnasse. Art folk with rich parents have occupied all its rooms and hallways, Harry likes the spatters of accidental color on the bland blue walls. The entrance hallway in the apartment leads into the living room and kitchen, large windows in a neat row stretch across the entire wall starting from above the kitchen sink and spreading all the way to the smaller sitting area. The wide polished wooden staircase on the opposite wall goes up to the bedrooms. The second floor is all done up in fleeting handpicked hues, somebody else's groggy soul embedded into Harry's bedroom walls. Harry's never been able to make anything his own, anyway.

Liam flings himself onto the couch while Zayn makes his way into the kitchen. Harry's content, he throws his legs over one of the elbow rests of the chair and props his head against the other; when Zayn comes back, he sits down on the couch close enough to start running his fingers through Harry's hair.

"How's school?" Zayn asks quietly.

Harry takes a second to answer.  
School is fine, all dreadful excitement, but is fine. 

"School's fine," Harry says.

"How's Nick?" 

"Nick's also fine," Harry says, "a bit sad, he is, but... you know," Zayn probably doesn't, Nick told Harry but it's nothing Harry would ever give away himself.

"Nick's sad? How'd that happen?" Harry shrugs.

"Just did."

Zayn starts playing with a strand of Harry's hair, a feeling of belonging settles deep in Harry's chest.

Liam joins in conversation and he and Zayn talk about the kitchen table needing a makeover. The story behind the kitchen table being taken out of the balcony set is rather dumb, really. Their original table got set on fire a couple months ago. They still refuse to acknowledge the fact that Madame Susanne, the landlady, will eventually see the table or lackthereof. 

If Harry is being honest, he likes the new table. It has character, it's been through a lot. The surface of it is rusting and the legs are uneven and shaky. Harry stares at it, streaks of light hitting its surface unevenly. Huh.

Liam has shifted on the sofa that way his head is on Zayn's thigh and Harry's almost 90% sure he's falling asleep.

Harry likes this feeling he gets when he's all settled in, comfortably calm. 

Although, he doesn't sleep that night. Zayn followed Liam into his room at two in the morning, leaving him alone, painfully bored. Harry finds himself thinking that now living has an unfortunate aftertaste of reality. 

Feeling as though the dark ceiling absorbs all matter and reason, at five in the morning he texts Annaleise if she needs help at the bakery. 

Annaliese says she doesn't mind him coming in, Harry quietly pulls on Zayn's discarded sweater and leaves a note on the kitchen table: 

_annaliese needed help at her shift love u_

Anna likes to talk to Harry in her broken English and make him try all her newest pastry recipes. 

Everything slows after the morning rush. Harry spends the whole day sitting on the floor, eating the remaining chocolate batter out of bowls and helping Anna here and there. She talks to him about her baby daughter trying bananas for the first time as she shapes pastries into pretty knots.

At two he leaves for school after kissing Anna on both cheeks. At five he comes back for his shift. 

Harry takes it upon himself to hook up his phone to the speakers before he changes the sign on the door from _open in 30_ to _open._

Harry's phone vibrates on the marble surface with a call from Nick.

"Hey," he croaks.

"Hi, H, listen, something– um, you know Niall? Something— I need to— I'm not coming in tonight," Nick says, rushed and tired. 

"You ok?" Harry chuckles, moving back to the kitchen area, the bakery still quiet in the paling yellow sunlight.

"Yeah, fine. I called Matt so he's gonna come in to cover for me, alright?" Nick says.

"Yeah, sure. Where are you?" 

"I asked Louis to pick you up, alright?"

"I can take the subway," Harry shrugs. Most days Nick drops Harry off at home before going back to his. When Nick stays over, they’ll light up a spliff in the car after work and listen to really shitty music in the parking lot of Harry's building. Harry enjoys it, the whole ordeal of not having to bother about going home too much. He feels a warm stinging fill his chest, it's lovely that Nick thought of this, arranged something so Harry doesn't have to make his way to the train in the cold.

"I'm giving you an opportunity of a lifetime here, mate. Louis drives a really fucking cool motorcycle," Nick laughs.

"Okay?"

"Regardless,” he stretches, “he's picking you up, he doesn't mind. Have a good night, okay?"

"Bye," Harry mumbles, Nick hangs up.

Harry's gonna miss Nick tonight, he loves spending time here with him. They talk about ridiculous things that happened to Nick over the week and Nick tells him funny stories. It's nice with Nick, comforting in it's own way, he talks and Harry listens.

The evening is chilly, November weather slowly taking full speed. Snow falls leisurely outside, Harry watches all the snowflakes reflect light under the yellow lamppost.

Harry hasn't slept in a long time and his limbs just feel like they weigh actual tons, his thoughts slowly sweep by, phased. It's not new. Harry's heart feels hazy around the edges, vision blurry, he thinks he lost his glasses.  
The hours drag. 

Once Matt comes in, he instantly fills the silence. He has really curly hair and a cool band. He talks about his small gigs and catches Harry up on the latest French law school drama. 

The bakery empties soon, the only thing now left to do is prepare for the next morning. Harry wouldn't trade this job for the world. 

Louis arrives after closing. Harry's met him a few times before at uni — Zayn and Louis take Theory of Knowledge together. Zayn often blazes on about the fun he's had with Louis after they got pizza and drove out of Paris that one time, or another time when they stole a car, or another time when they went on a week long road trip like _Americans_. 

Louis knocks on the glass door and once it's open, rushes in, trying to escape the mean cold.

"Nice seeing you," Louis grins, stopping in front of Harry. His eyes shining in the soft light and way too awake. 

"You, too," Harry says, closing the door. The cold hits his cheek sending goose bumps along his pale skin. 

Louis strides to behind the counter, looking around. He's been here once before. In the times Harry's met Louis, he seemed to him infantile, phlegmatic almost, without a care in the world. Most of Nick's friends share those traits. Harry needs to sleep.

"You can have something if you like, we're closed for today," Harry says, nodding towards the pastries behind the counter glass. He rubs his eyes, sighing. Harry wants to go home, he wonders if Liam and Zayn spent the entire day lounging around the apartment. He's ready to bet they did.

Louis' expression is joyful when he reaches to open the sliding glass. He takes an eclair and sighs dreamily. 

"I had to take a dude's weed to him on the other side of town today," Louis says after a little while, licking icing off his finger. Louis' told Harry once that his friend might as well be a drug lord had he not grown his shit in an abandoned toolshed. Louis helps by delivering said weed to people from time to time. Harry thinks he gets paid a lot for the places he goes to for this.

"Cool," Harry shrugs, walking towards Louis. He pulls himself up on the counter next to the coffee machine and looks up. Louis' looks nice, Harry thinks. His hair in a messy disarray, trench coat unbuttoned and dress shirt now stained with buttery crumbs. Harry wonders if Louis cares, from what he's heard from Nick, Louis is some youngest son to the late Earl of— it’s irrelevant, Louis is loaded, is what it is. 

"Not cool, the dude was huge and chased me down his street."

"What?"

"It's fine, though," Louis goes on, "happens all the time."

"Why?"

"Most of these people are already stoned, Harry."

"Cool," Harry repeats.

It's fun on the backseat of Louis' bike. The loud wind numbs Harry's fingertips, cold and ruthless. Harry grasps the back handles at sudden turns and stops, his palms stinging, Harry’s too tired to care. 

Harry often finds himself in beat silent prostration, floating in empty space and thinking empty thoughts. It's been a while since Harry has discovered the meaning of life —it turned out to be underwhelming— so now it's all just listless. Knowing the frankly plain unsubstantiality of everything brought Harry into a time of tranquil apathy. Rolling back and forth in meaningless waves as they carry him along. Life has never before been this boring. 

He's sat down one day to write about the senselessness of caring for senseless things too eagerly but ended up with a list of stages he's gone through.

1\. Fundamental Harry — lazy and rebellious, fit to bask in everybody's light and shine way brighter than all of the stars. 

2\. Harry plus Anne — idle and misgiving.

3\. Harry plus last year of sixth form — alive and curious.

4\. Harry now —

It doesn't thrill Harry— the way he thinks of things these days— he wonders if he will ever change. His progress has now subsided, little cause and no action. It's all a blur really.

Once they're at Harry's door, Harry invites Louis to visit the bakery more often and Louis nods eagerly. He's good, Harry decides.

He leans his back on the wall next to their apartment door after exiting the ancient elevator. The bulbs blew out here ages ago so the only light source is from the window opposite the stairs. The moon is quite bright tonight and Harry's mind is blank, as if he's drunk bottle after bottle of cheap liquor. This feeling's oughta pass, right?

Harry unlocks the door and walks in. He takes off his coat and peeks into the living room. He feels calm wash over him in slow waves. 

Zayn's seated on top of the kitchen table and Liam is on the chair in front of him. Harry hears Zayn talk French and Liam repeat after him. It's one of their French Lesson nights then.

As soon as he makes noise they look to see who it is. 

"Hi, H," says Zayn with a distracted smile.

"You didn't walk home, did you?" Liam asks.

Harry shakes his head and rubs his eyes. He drops his backpack on the couch and makes his way to sit next to Zayn on the shabby table (the sooner it breaks the better). The only noise in the room is Liam's incessant humming and Harry appreciates this lax silence. He puts his head on Zayn's shoulder and sighs, too lazy to go to his room now. 

"Nick's friend gave me a ride home," he says. 

Liam's eyebrows furrow. Him and Nick's managed to become close in these years but still held an itching contempt for each other. 

"Which?" He asks.

"Louis," Harry doubts that Liam required that information for any vital purposes whatsoever but. 

Zayn yawns. He runs his hand through his hair and rubs his eyes. 

"Love that dude," he says slowly. 

"Staying, Z?" Harry asks, he throws his leg over Zayn's knees and leans his cheek into his shoulder. 

"Yeah.”

Zayn crashes at their apartment a lot, they're used to it. It started around two years ago and been a thing ever since. Harry met Zayn at uni, saw him doodle in class, they started talking. When Harry sat down in the train back home he saw Zayn again. They apparently took the same line. 

Liam didn't like Zayn at first but people can't not like Zayn for too long, he's too intriguing of a person to push away willingly. A rarity, Zayn is, Liam softened up to him in less than two months. 

The boy's thoughts seemed to hold so much and Harry couldn't let him go without knowing what that something was. (Among the disarray of philosophical dilemmas, Zayn embodied boyish intellect and wit and held in his mind a love so big, he found himself lost in it sometimes.) One day Harry wrote about Zayn, about his blue blood but also soul, the way he holds the world on his shoulders and downpours in his hands. He's confident he wrote it on a napkin at one point and Liam spilled vodka on it. It's probably lost now, stinking of irony and alcohol. 

This year, Zayn has classes later in the day, he stays over a lot more. 

Harry doesn't know where this conversation is going but with Liam and Zayn he really doesn't have to worry about that too much. He pushes himself off the table.

"G'night," he says on the way to his room.

Harry falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow. 

~

It has started to snow. Cars race by, illuminating empty pavements outside the parking lot for seconds at a time. It's warm in Nick's car, quiet music leaking out of the speakers, soft puffs of cold breath dragging slowly away. Paris never seemed calmer, never this paced and never this languid. The city used to hold a sense of youthful dignity, it still does in one way or another, Harry guesses. Traces of it lingering still and quiet in his skin. 

Harry stretches his legs out as best as he can in the backseat of Nick's car, the cigarette between his fingers slowly burns out, ashes falling to the floor. Harry stares out the sunroof, no stars in sight, he's been looking out for them. What a disappointment. 

"I want to go away," Harry says.

A pause. 

"Where to?" Nick shifts gear.

"Just away."

Nick drives. He drives around and across the river, takes them to St. Denis and over to the 16th. There is no traffic at three in the morning. They talk about simple things and Harry slowly finds his way back into the front seat. Nick lights another cigarette and rolls down his windows. 

Harry wants to drive out to La Manche but it's too cold now and Nick doesn't have much gas left in his car so they decide against it. Nick doesn't take Harry home that night. He drives straight to his apartment and they drink expensive liquor Nick's father sent him, Nick complains about the taste of it. Harry stares out the window from the leather couch, he hangs his head upside down over one of the elbow rests, it's still snowing. Harry wants to sleep, he wishes he could just sleep. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe in deeply. Nick's apartment smells like aftershave and rain.

Harry slowly picks himself up and strides over to unlock the creaky windows. The space erupts in the sound of the street: wind, cars, and snow. Harry feels Nick's body behind his. He doesn't care for Nick as anything but a friend, it's fine, they've been over it. Harry stares out the window as long as he can before Nick slowly spins him around. It feels familiar, it's happened before and it will happen again. Nick looks Harry up and down as Harry picks out the detail in the boy's necklace. He takes Harry's glasses off and places them on the windowsill behind him, Harry's heart beats a steady rhythm and his hands stay at his sides. Nick leans down and kisses him on his cold mouth. He reaches for Harry's waist and places his warm hands under his old cotton t-shirt. Harry's tired.

~

The weekend is spent drinking cheap wine with Zayn in his apartment. The windows are enormous and the ceilings are tall. 

Harry feels nothing and Zayn pats his head. Zayn also makes cheesy pasta and they halfheartedly watch reruns of French soap operas. Harry finds an escape with Zayn from time to time. Harry knows that when his hands are shaking and his heart is pounding loud, so loud, Zayn will be the one he will turn to. He tells Harry of his halcyon midnights, tells him of the times he feels as though he's floating in his own mind. Harry lays his head on Zayn's shoulder, nodding all through the stories. 

Harry knows Zayn is going to feel sad about telling Harry these things later, it's just the way he is. Harry discovered rather quickly that Zayn tries his best to distance after going through any sort of emotional dependency. His mind unwinds and he regrets all last night's decisions, discarding his actions once he deems his cause complete. Harry reckons at one point everyone regrets sharing themselves with the world. 

Harry knows Zayn, he knows his mind and heart but Zayn never talks much about what he actually does when he's alone and Harry never wants to feel like he's intruding. Zayn stays close but wanders distant. 

They watch cartoons and wait for Liam to come back from work. 

~

Nicholas is turning 26 this week and Harry feels a bit sad. Nick's been through a lot with him and Harry is weepy now. He feels a certain responsibility when it comes to Nick. All his other friends are strangely capable and self-aware whereas Nick just isn't, doesn’t seem to be.

Harry buys Nick a toaster.

When Harry's back home he wraps the toaster in lilac wrapping paper and puts a pretty golden bow on the top of it.

He makes tea and takes a nap. He feels all warm when he's alone, detached and calm, he likes spending time with himself. Nobody bothers him and everything is in place.

**Author's Note:**

> williehues.tumblr.com


End file.
